Don't Wanna Lose You Now
by vignette-novella
Summary: A story I wrote three years ago of Burke & Cristina. One-shot. Post 3.12


**A/N: **I wrote this one-shot three years ago, and thought I'd re-publish it. Some lines and dialogues have been edited since. Post 3.12.

**Don't Wanna Lose You Now**

_"My dad died when I was nine."_

Cristina strode along the halls of the hospital, fidgeting with her hands, until she reached Burke's room. She moved her hand to knock on the door, but stopped in mid-air when she noticed that he was sleeping. Besides, she was not one who knocked anyway, she had thought.

She quietly walked into the room, sat on the couch, which she had taken up residence for the past week, and slowly took off her shoes. She was exhausted. Mr. O'Malley died, and though she was not usually known to cry over something like that, seeing George mourning and shredding tears made hurtful memories of her father's death to force their way into her head again.

And _that_ was exhausting.

And painful.

She glanced up at Burke, and sighed tiredly. She just realized that she had not once mentioned to him about her father. After telling George that her old man died when she was just a little girl, she felt guilt creeping all over her body. Burke should be the first to know about that.

Not George. Not someone whom she never really openly admitted as her friend.

But then again, his father had just been pulled off life support, and Cristina felt that it was right to open up to him about that particular issue. Although, until to that point of time when she was already lowering her back on the blue couch, she did not know the reason why she chose to do that.

She started to shift awkwardly on the hard and uncomfortable couch to find a good position to sleep in, when she heard a soft yet audible sound of someone clearing their throat. She quickly averted her gaze towards the bed, where she assumed the sound was coming from, and saw Burke wide awake, his eyes open and his mouth plastered with a small, sad smile.

She desperately wanted to return that smile, but she found herself failing to do that simple task that Burke was always so advanced in giving. Most of the time, she would always gladly smile for him, but at that time, she could not.

She hoped to blame it on the exhaustion the long day at work had caused, but deep inside, she knew that that was not the reason at all.

It was the memories.

The hurtful memories of when she was in elementary school, having to suddenly face the fact that her father had just died.

These memories had always been there in her mind, but the effect they had on her was more intense when she had to relive them verbally earlier, and the intensity still lingered angrily when she turned away from George to walk back into the hospital.

It still lingered when she walked into Burke's room. And it still lingered when she was already there lying on the couch and gazing deep into his eyes. It still stubbornly lingered.

Unwillingly and surprising herself, tears started to well in her eyes. She tried to fight them back, but the painful memories would not let her win. Left with no choice, she let them fall, and sniffed as she felt them rolling freely down her cheeks, too pain-stricken to even wipe them off immediately.

Noticing this, Burke let his bushy eyebrows furrow and slowly sat up on the bed, all the time his eyes fixated on his girlfriend. He could have sworn that he could easily count on his fingers on times he had seen his Cristina looked so vulnerable.

He knew that they were still playing the silent game they each had been wanting to emerge victorious in. But he also knew that the game did not matter anymore, because he was sure that all she needed right then was comfort.

"Cristina?" he called out softly, after a little hesitation. "Come here," he offered, able to sense the tentativeness in his words - as convinced as he was, she might still not want to be comforted.

He watched as she looked up almost immediately, her eyes and face pinkish red from all the crying, and he felt ashamed that he had not been able to stop those tears earlier.

Cristina tentatively stood up from the couch and made her way to the side of Burke's bed, sniffing and eventually wiping her tears in the process. She had won the game, she had thought, but did it really matter anymore?

Burke's heart lightened that his Cristina had made the few steps to his bed, and swiftly scooped her in his arms, holding her tight. "Shh..."

Cristina continued to sniff, letting the remaining of her tears stain her face. She laid contently beside Burke, resting her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

She glanced up moments later, after assuring herself that her eyes were dry and her emotions controlled. "My dad died when I was nine," she said in a whisper, her voice strangled.

Burke gazed back into her almond eyes, which he had always loved, and felt his heart break. He had not seen so much pain collected in those beautiful eyes before. Not knowing what to say, he leaned in to kiss her gently on the forehead.

He guessed that it had always been hard for her to open up about things like this because it was _actually _really hard for her to do so. And he knew that the death of Mr. O'Malley must have somehow contributed into her opening up about her father.

But to see her in so much pain right then, Burke felt that he would rather she not tell him about it.

"So, I don't want you to die too," she added, her eyes still locked into his. She looked intently at him, waiting for a response that she wished would not disappoint her. She had lost one important man in her life; she could not afford to lose another. She should not be grieving anymore; she was tired of it.

Burke kept his lips brushed against her soft forehead. "I won't," he assured her, stroking her hair gently.

He sensed Cristina closing her eyes briefly and felt her inhaling deeply. "I'm sticking," he heard her say. "Whether you like it or not, I'm not going anywhere, so you would have to deal with it."

Burke moved to look down at her, and offered her a smile. "Okay."

"I still need you," Cristina confessed, as she drifted slowly to sleep, exhaustion finally getting the best of her. "Not now."

Burke nodded in understanding, and as he pulled her closer, he was sure, though he did not officially emerge victorious in the game, that together they could win in everything, just like how they had before.

"Not now," he whispered back.

_Don't wanna lose you now_

_Baby I know we can win this_

_Don't wanna lose you now_

_Not now, or ever again_


End file.
